


Numb

by violenttulips



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, F/M, Healing, M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28903137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violenttulips/pseuds/violenttulips
Summary: After the war, Harry Potter is numb. A short story of healing and hope.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 7
Kudos: 88





	Numb

**Author's Note:**

> Please keep in mind that everyone's experiences with depression and healing are different, and that while Harry's healing is shown in juxtaposition with the development of his relationship with Draco in this story, he's not healed BY the relationship. Depression is far more complicated than that. Recovering from Depression is also not linear, and Harry will still have bad days, even though he's doing better overall at the end. Thanks for reading! -MJ

Harry stares into the fire as Ginny stares at him.

"It's been months, Harry, I don't know how long I can wait—"

"Then don't."

"You don't love me anymore." It's a statement, not a question.

He wishes it wasn't true, but he's not sure he _can_ love her anymore. If he's even capable of loving anyone.

"I'm sorry," he says.

He _should_ be sorry, he knows, so he says the words, but they come out sounding wrong, even to him. Fake.

"I wish you really were." Ginny sighs, sniffling and wiping at her face before disappearing through the Floo.

* * *

Ron shows up an hour later and doesn't say a word. He pours Harry a drink and sits beside him. He doesn't like it, but he understands. Or he tries, at least. It's better than Harry expected, given the circumstances.

He leaves a while later, to go back home to Hermione. They're happy, finally together. Harry knows. He wants to be happy for them. He tries to be. Ron touches Harry's shoulder before he leaves.

"We love you, mate."

"I love you, too."

It sounds fake again. He wants to mean it, he knows he did, once. He hopes he will again. But right now he just feels... Empty. Numb.

* * *

"None of this will help you until you start trying, Harry. Not these sessions with me, not the potions. You have to _want_ to feel better."

"I know."

Harry wonders if the Mind Healer will crack under the stress of trying to fix him.

* * *

The first time Harry feels something again, it's unexpected. He testifies for the Malfoys because he thinks he should. Because he knows he'll regret it if he doesn't, someday. Even if he doesn't particularly care what happens to them now.

Draco Malfoy is led to the chair and bound immediately, staring up at him, sunken eyes wide and fearful, hair dirty and tangled, grey Azkaban robes hanging loosely on his emaciated frame. He looks as broken on the outside as Harry thinks he himself might be on the inside.

Harry feels... Pity.

Just a flicker of it, a spark with nothing to ignite, and so it burns out.

* * *

"Why is being around your friends so difficult?" The Mind Healer asks.

"They were in the war too, but they seem fine now. Happy. And they want me to be happy, too."

"Isn't that normal? For your friends to want you to be happy?"

"I'm not sure I _can_ be happy," Harry sighs. "And I don't want to keep disappointing them."

"You don't think you'll ever feel happy again? Why?"

"I don't know."

_Because I'm broken_ , Harry thinks. _And people are dead because I couldn't save them. And because I died too, and maybe I didn't come back right._

But he doesn't tell her any of that.

* * *

When Harry sees him again, it's from across a crowded Muggle club almost a year later.

He needs an escape from Hermione and Ron's worried faces. From Ron's blatant accusations of recklessness at work, in his attempts to feel _something._ From Hermione's more carefully veiled accusations of recklessness in other aspects of his life, wrapped tightly in concern and love and friendship so as to soften the blow. Their lectures, while well-intended, only serve to annoy him, to encourage him to come here again, to find someone who might distract him from his apathy, if only for a moment.

Draco Malfoy is ethereal. Blond hair glimmering under the low lights, eyes dark with lust. Moving with liquid grace as he dances with a Muggle, grinding against him.

Watching the way they move together sends a bright flare of something hot through Harry, low in his belly. He can't seem to look away. He doesn't expect to be noticed, but the perfect attunement he and Malfoy have always seemed to share draws his gaze up and over to Harry. His mouth drops open in recognition and surprise.

Harry turns away and walks to the bar. He's startled when Draco joins him a moment later, having abandoned his conquest on the dance floor. 

"Potter."

"Malfoy."

Draco orders a drink, then looks Harry over. "Wearing a dragon fang earring around Muggles isn't exactly subtle."

Harry snorts into his drink. "They don't know it's real."

"I suppose not," Draco sips his drink and lowers his voice. "I'm surprised to find you here. Alone. Aren't you normally surrounded by adoring fans? Why not bask in your glory at a Wizarding club?"

"This may come as a shock to you, Malfoy, but I actually prefer to be alone."

"Even from Granger and Weasley?" Draco asks, startled.

Harry slants a look over at him. "Yeah. They mean well, but....yeah."

"Hm," is Draco's only comment on this revelation.

Harry takes a large swallow of his drink, trying not to openly stare at the other man too long. He looks good. _Too_ good _._

Draco sets his empty glass on the counter. "Nice to see you, Potter."

And then he's gone.

Harry feels... Curiosity.

An ember, burning softly for a second, then going dark.

* * *

"How are you feeling, Harry?" The Mind Healer asks.

"Fine," he says.

She purses her lips and writes something on her clipboard. "Are you feeling _anything_ right now?" 

"No."

"Then you're not fine, Harry."

He shrugs.

* * *

"I'm pulling you from the field, Potter. You're going to get yourself killed out there if you keep this up." Head Auror Robards glares down at him, a hint of concern behind his stern expression.

Harry accepts his new desk job without comment.

Ron looks guilty.

Harry _should_ be angry with him, but he isn't. He just doesn't care.

* * *

When they run into each other at the Muggle club again, Harry doesn't hesitate to approach him. 

"Malfoy."

Draco smiles at him. "Potter."

"Dance with me?" Harry asks.

"No. Meet me for dinner tomorrow." 

Harry gapes at him. "Why?"

Draco smirks. He reaches out and brushes Harry's wild hair out of his face, running a thumb over his jaw. "The Jade Dragon. Eight o'clock. And call me Draco. We've outgrown that 'calling each other by our surnames' nonsense."

Harry watches him go this time. Draco walks away with that same hypnotic grace as before, never glancing back, and exits the club.

Harry feels... Intrigued. Interested.

The flicker of a match, burning bright for a moment before it's snuffed out.

* * *

"What are we doing here, Draco?" Harry asks the next day. He almost didn't come, but he _is_ curious and, as it turns out, curiosity can be a powerful motivator.

"Eating dinner?" Draco raises an eyebrow over his menu.

"You know what I mean," Harry sighs.

"I don't know," Draco smiles enigmatically and shrugs. "Seemed like a good idea yesterday."

Harry feels... Flustered. Apprehensive.

A lighter, opened to reveal the tiny flame inside, then clicked shut just as quickly.

* * *

"Are you sure you're comfortable coming to the wedding?" Ginny asks.

"Of course, Gin," he tells her. "Are you happy?"

She blushes. "I am."

"Then I'm happy for you. Neville, too."

It's not exactly true, but he _wants_ to be happy for them, and it doesn't sound fake, so he thinks here must be at least _some_ truth to his words.

* * *

"Dance with me."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm not interested in being another one of your one-offs, Potter."

"It's Harry now, remember? And I wasn't—"

"I know you were watching me dance with that Muggle a few weeks ago," Draco interrupts. "That you wanted it to be you."

Harry sighs. He's tired of lying. Of pretending. "Alright. Where did you learn to dance like that, anyway?"

"Muggle clubs like this one," Draco chuckles. "I like to pull sometimes too, you know."

"But you won't—"

"Not with you, no."

"Why not?"

Draco just gives him a secretive smile, lightly tugs on his earring, and changes the subject.

Harry feels... Confused. Hurt. Captivated.

A little flame, a candle, a pinpoint of glimmering light before someone blows it out.

* * *

He starts dreaming of Draco. Of clutching a broom. Of hands clinging tightly to him, of scorching heat all around him and fear coursing through him.

Fiendfyre.

They don't make it, in the dreams.

The fire burns them up.

* * *

"Tell me about the nightmares, Harry." The Mind Healer prods, taking note of the dark circles under his eyes.

"I don't have nightmares," Harry lies.

* * *

Draco?"

"Hm?"

"What are we doing?"

"Walking, Harry. Well, walking and drinking coffee, if you want to be _really_ specific."

Harry glares at him. "No, I mean—"

"I know what you meant."

"Then—"

"What did you think about the Cannons vs. Tornados match on Saturday?"

Draco's fingers brush his as they walk, and Harry's heart stutters in his chest.

Harry feels... Warm. Puzzled. Infatuated.

A candelabra, brightening a room until one by one, the lights burn out.

* * *

"Have you felt anything this week, Harry?

"Er... Yeah."

"Really?" The Mind Healer's eyes brighten. "What?"

"A few things," he mumbles. "Erm, excited? To see someone."

"Do all of your new...feelings...have to do with this person?"

Harry considers this for a moment. Remembers Teddy trying to say his name a few days earlier, the flash of pride and excitement he felt. A moment of anger at work, when a coworker was incompetent.

"No, but it's easier to feel when I'm around him."

"Interesting."

* * *

They're sitting on a park bench, looking up at the night sky.

"That's the Draco constellation," Draco says, pointing out the stars that create his namesake.

"Yeah, I can see it now," Harry says, and he did, but he's not looking at the stars anymore.

Draco leans his head against Harry's shoulder. His hair smells like lemons and cedarwood. The soft strands tickle Harry's neck.

Harry feels... Fascinated. Foolish. Disconcerted. Mesmerized.

A torch, lighting the way, until it's dropped into a puddle and doused. 

* * *

"How are you feeling, Harry?"

"Fine, Hermione."

"You and Malfoy were photographed again."

"I know."

"What's going on there?"

"I don't know."

"Are you dating?"

"I don't know."

"Do you _want_ to be dating Malfoy?"

"I don't kn—" He bites his lip and glances over at Ron. "Yes."

Ron shrugs. "Whatever makes you happy, mate."

* * *

Harry chases after the Snitch, laughing with wild abandon as Draco follows after him, the golden ball struggles against his fist when Harry holds it high in the air, reveling in his victory. A soft breeze ruffles his hair.

"Alright, you got the Snitch. But can you get a Quaffle past me?"

And so, they change the game. Harry, as it turns out, is a decent Chaser. But Draco is an even better Keeper.

They leave the Quidditch Pitch and go their separate ways, both drenched in sweat and grinning from ear to ear.

Harry feels... Exhilarated. Energized. Elated. Enraptured.

A fireplace, flickering merrily, until it's put out with a carefully aimed Aguamenti Charm.

* * *

"Do we need to adjust your potions, Harry?" The Mind Healer asks.

"No." He smiles genuinely at her, and that's more convincing than anything he could have said.

"Okay. Do you think you're ready to talk about the war?"

He nods.

* * *

Draco breezes into Harry's apartment with several bags and boxes in his arms. "I'm doing something about that horrifyingly awful wardrobe of yours today, Potter," he says, drawing a pair of trousers and a forest green button-down from the bag and throwing them at him. "Try these on."

Harry lifts the shirtsleeve up off his face to stare blankly at him. "What."

"Go on. Try them on."

"Er... Okay."

Harry takes the new clothes into the bathroom.

Draco licks his lips when Harry comes out wearing them. "Perfect. Now these." He tosses another outfit at him.

Harry tries on the clothes, a variety of Muggle things and Wizard robes, and Draco approves of nearly all of them.

The last thing Harry tries is a pair of grey trousers and a navy blue shirt. Draco straightens the collar, runs a hand down Harry's chest, over the buttons to smooth out the fabric.

"Wear this one to dinner this weekend."

He kisses Harry's cheek and breezes out of Harry's flat as swiftly as when he'd arrived.

Harry feels... Startled. Uneasy. Excited. Annoyed. Hopeful.

A campfire, warming against the chill outside, burning until it's carefully smothered, to prevent it from consuming everything around it.

* * *

"What did you feel this week?" The Mind Healer asks.

"Um. Lots of things, but mostly confused."

"That's not really a feeling..."

"Excited, then. While also very confused."

"About?"

"Draco."

"Why?"

"He won't tell me what he wants. He just invites me places, or shows up at my flat and makes me food while he tells me I need to eat better and insults my hair."

The Healers lips twitch. "And you feel excited when you see him, or when you know you will be seeing him?"

"Yeah. But I don't know what he wants from me."

She has to hide the snicker behind a cough. "Don't you?"

* * *

Draco kisses Harry goodnight after dinner that weekend. He brushes his lips against Harry's, warm, sweet, coaxing. He opens his mouth, and he tastes like the strawberry tart he ordered for dessert. He puts a hand to Harry's cheek, thumb brushing lightly over his skin. Harry responds cautiously, remembering what Draco said about not wanting to be one of Harry's one-offs, and suddenly, he understands.

Draco pulls away and smiles softly, leaving Harry on his own doorstep, waving to him as he walks back down the stairs.

Harry feels... Astounded. Delighted. Strange. Hysterical. Aroused.

A bonfire, it burns hot and doesn't go out for days.

* * *

"How is it, being around your friends lately?" The Mind Healer asks.

"Much better."

"How do they feel about your new relationship?"

"They're supportive," Harry smiles. "They're always supportive. They're the best friends anyone could ask for."

"Good. I want to talk about your childhood today, Harry."

He winces, but he tells her.

* * *

"I need to quit," Harry says.

Head Auror Robards pushes his glasses up and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I know."

"You...know?"

"You're not happy here, Potter. You never have been. Find something that makes you happy."

"Thank you, sir."

For the first time, finding something that makes him happy seems like an actual possibility. He doesn't know what he'll do yet, but he leaves the Auror Department feeling free.

* * *

Two weeks later, Harry sinks into Draco's body with a low groan. Draco moans, tossing his head back.

"Yes, yes, _Harry."_

He has his heels propped on Harry's shoulders, folded neatly in half, pale hair splayed across the pillow. He looks up at him, gaze soft and warm, and Harry thinks he's never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

He leans down to kiss him and Draco clings to him, nails digging into his back. He pulls away to breathe against his ear, "Harry, please. I need you to—"

Harry braces himself, then shifts his hips and sets up a steady, carefully angled rhythm, and Draco keens. He's extremely vocal, babbling and pleading and praising and cursing throughout, and Harry loves it.

Draco screams when he comes, painting their stomachs and chests with his release, the sweet clenching pressure dragging Harry over the edge with him, pure ecstasy coursing through them both.

Harry pulls out and drops down beside him, wrapping Draco in his arms, a whispered spell cleansing them instantly.

And Harry feels. He feels, and feels, and _feels._ Safe. Euphoric. Delirious. A dozen other things he can't even name, but they're there, inside of him, and he can _feel_ them.

Fiendfyre, an unbearable heat coursing through his veins, consuming everything, cleansing him from the inside out, impossible to quench.

It's too much to process. Harry chokes out a sob against Draco's shoulder.

"Oh, darling," Draco murmurs, pressing a kiss to his temple and holding him tight.

When he wakes in the morning, Draco is still there. Bright and warm and beautiful. He kisses him good morning, and Harry makes them breakfast.

* * *

"I love you," Harry tells him, a few months later.

Draco looks up from his book. They're sitting on the sofa, his feet in Harry's lap as he reads. "What?"

"I love you."

Draco sets his book aside and crawls down the sofa to kiss him. "I love you too, but what brought that on?"

"I don't know," Harry smiles. "I just felt it, and I wanted to say it."

Draco kisses him again, pulling him close and running his fingers through his hair.

And Harry feels... Happy. Content. Whole.


End file.
